The rooftops of Shibuya blurred beneath Obi's feet-slick metal, chipped tile, loose gravel, the occasional humming neon sign buzzing in his periphery. He leapt across the skyline like a stray ghost, hoodie flapping, sneakers scraping against the concrete edges. The morning was cold enough to sting his fingers, his breath puffing out in shaky clouds as he landed, crouched, scanned the streets below, and ran again.
He was running on fumes. And hope. Maybe that was worse.
Down on the street level, he darted through narrow alleys and open plazas, asking the same question over and over with less and less confidence.
"Excuse me-have you seen a girl? My age, maybe younger. Short hair. She might be injured."
The old man sweeping outside a closed convenience store paused just long enough to shake his head, gaze heavy with pity or disinterest-he couldn't tell.
The takoyaki vendor glanced up from his smoke, took a drag, and muttered, "Nah, haven't seen anyone like that."
The delivery cyclist barely slowed down. "Sorry, man!"
That was it. No one knew anything. Or no one cared enough to really look.
Obi's stomach growled, sharp and hollow. A pigeon, roosting nearby, fluttered away in surprise.
"Damn it," he muttered to himself. He hadn't eaten dinner? It was all a blur.
Eventually, he ducked into a small ramen shop tucked behind a used bookstore. The place was quiet-no music, just the sound of broth bubbling in a pot. He ate in silence, slurping noodles mechanically, staring out the window at the grey, flickering world.
Then he heard it.
A scream-sharp, female, and distant.
He froze, chopsticks midway to his mouth.
The second thing he noticed was the smell. Blood. That coppery, raw scent. Sharp enough to hit the back of his throat.
He dropped his food. Ran.
The scent led him further from the crowds, into the edge of Shibuya's forgotten side-construction lots, shuttered buildings, graffiti-covered fences. He ducked around a rusted shed, keeping low.
And stopped.
There was someone already there.
A boy. About his age. Short black hair, trimmed close to the scalp. Thin-rimmed glasses. Blue eyes-sharp and unreadable. His clothes were simple: pale shirt, fitted slacks, a white windbreaker that looked too clean for this part of town.
The boy was standing still, almost unnaturally so, lips moving in a soft series of chirps and clicks. From the sky, a crow swooped down and landed on his shoulder like it had done this a hundred times.
The boy tied a small note to its leg.
"Take it to my brother," he whispered. The crow took off with a beat of black wings.
Obi shifted, and a piece of gravel crunched beneath his foot.
The boy's head turned immediately.
"I can hear you breathing," he said flatly. "You're not good at hiding."
Obi straightened, stepping out from behind the shed. "You talk to birds," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I figured stealth wasn't necessary."
The boy's eyes narrowed. "This area's off-limits. You shouldn't be here."
"Says the kid whispering to wildlife in the middle of nowhere."
"I'm not just a kid," the boy replied, walking toward him. "And this place is dangerous. Normal people shouldn't hang around places like this."
Obi scoffed. "You keep saying 'normal' like you're not one of us."
The boy didn't answer. Instead, he stepped forward and suddenly grabbed Obi by the collar, yanking him forward.
Obi winced. "Ow-hey! Careful! I'm still healing!"
"Then you shouldn't be out here bleeding on the pavement," the boy said coldly. "What's your purpose? Why are you here?"
"I should be asking you the same thing," Obi snapped back.
"I asked first. So..."
Before either of them could say another word, a scream cut through the air.
High-pitched. Raw. A woman's scream-full of terror.
It echoed from deep inside the building behind them.
Obi's body tensed. He didn't hesitate. He knocked the boy's hand off his collar and bolted, shoes slamming against cracked pavement as he sprinted toward the entrance.
"Wait-!"
The boy's voice chased after him, followed by the sound of fast footsteps. In a blink, a hand clamped around Obi's arm, yanking him to a halt.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the boy snapped, eyes blazing behind his glasses. "You don't just run in blind! It's dangerous. People die in places like this. We need to wait for the higher-ups."
Obi wrenched his arm free, breath sharp with adrenaline. "Higher-ups? What does that even mean? Are you with the police? Some kind of... agency?"
The boy hesitated.
"That scream didn't sound like something you wait around for," Obi said, voice low, but trembling with emotion. "Someone's in there. She could be bleeding out or worse, and you're telling me to wait?"
"It's not that simple-"
"No," Obi cut in. "I've stood frozen before. I've let things happen while I was too scared to move. I'm not doing that again. Not tonight."
He turned and ran, ignoring the sting in his lungs, the boy's voice behind him, and the creeping chill of dread as he crossed the threshold of the building.
The world around him dimmed as he disappeared into the dark.
---
Obi bolted up the stairwell, his shoes pounding against cracked concrete, each step vibrating through his aching legs. The deeper he pushed into the building, the more the air seemed to change-growing warmer, thicker, suffocating. The coppery stench of blood coiled through the darkness like smoke.
He covered his mouth with his sleeve, but it did nothing to block out the scent. It was raw and pungent. Fresh.
Somewhere above, a wet, squelching sound echoed faintly. A slow, deliberate chewing. Something was eating.
Obi's breath caught in his throat. His knees trembled. A memory surged without warning-Kanou, her hands soaked in red, crouched over their brother's torn corpse. Her mouth. Her teeth. Her eyes, wild and blank.
No. Not again. Not like that.
He gritted his teeth, forcing the image down.
"This is different," he muttered, willing himself to believe it. "No one dies this time."
Finally, he reached the top floor.
He turned the corner-and stopped dead.
At the end of the hallway, under the flickering light of a broken ceiling lamp, crouched a creature. It was vaguely human in shape but too thin, too long. Its grayish-brown skin was stretched taut over protruding bones, with thick black veins running like ink down its arms. It wore only a jacket and a pair of loose hakama, both soaked in blood.
Beneath it lay a woman.
Her body was limp. Her skin was deathly pale. Her eyes, wide and glassy, were fixed on nothing-but her chest still rose and fell in shallow, pitiful breaths.
She was alive.
Barely.
Obi couldn't move. His legs locked up, and his fingers went numb around the knife in his pocket. The urge to rush in screamed through his body, but something else-a cold, venomous fear-whispered: What if you fail again?
The demon's head jerked up.
It sniffed the air.
Then it turned.
Its face twisted into a hungry grin, exposing rows of jagged, shark-like teeth. A single horn jutted from its forehead, and its eyes-slit and glowing yellow-gleamed like molten gold.
"Well, well," it rasped, licking blood from its lips. "I've never tasted exotic blood before."
It stood to its full height, towering over the woman like a twisted marionette.
"Come here, sweet strawberry," it crooned, voice thick and sickly sweet. "Let me drink your pretty juice."
In an instant, it vanished-and reappeared directly in front of Obi.
A cold hand clamped around his head.
Before he could think, Obi's training-or maybe pure instinct-kicked in. He drew his knife and slashed upward in one fluid motion.
The blade sliced across the demon's throat.
A geyser of blood erupted, splattering Obi's hoodie. The creature staggered back, gargling, clutching its neck.
For a second, Obi thought it was over.
Then the demon laughed.
Its body twitched as the torn flesh began to stitch itself back together. The wound closed in seconds, skin reforming like clay under invisible hands.
"Damn, kid," the demon coughed, still grinning. "That actually hurt."
Obi stared in disbelief, his breathing ragged. His hands trembled around the knife.
"But," the demon added, tilting its head with an audible crack, "not enough."
It grinned wider and dropped into a crouch, arms splayed like an animal ready to pounce.
"You're in shock," it said. "I get it. Happens a lot. You thought you were the hero. But you underestimated us. You're just food, boy."
Obi couldn't respond. A wave of killing intent rolled off the demon, so thick it was like trying to breathe through water. His vision swam.
Then the demon lunged.
A blur of motion-then pain.
Obi was slammed through the wall, crashing into rotting wood and concrete. Something tore in his shoulder, and warmth bloomed across his chest. One of his stitches had ripped open. Blood spilled freely.
He gasped, his body curling in agony.
"Juicy, juicy, juicy," the demon giggled, voice fractured like a skipping record. "I'm gonna split you open like a pomegranate, sweet strawberry."
Obi forced himself upright, knife raised. He swung it blindly, but the demon dodged each strike with infuriating ease.
"You're cute when you're scared," it mocked, snickering. "All bark. No bite."
Obi's legs buckled. He dropped to one knee, the world narrowing to a red haze. He could barely breathe, barely move.
The demon loomed over him.
Then-
A sharp whistle.
A dagger flew through the air and struck the demon directly in the eye.
The creature shrieked, flailing backward, clawing at its face in blind fury.
Obi blinked through the haze of pain and saw a silhouette in the doorway.
It was the boy from earlier-the one with the crow.
He stepped forward slowly, unbothered by the blood splattered across the room. He held four more knives between his fingers, and two more were clenched in his mouth like he'd done this a hundred times before.
He exhaled with an audible tch and muttered around the blades, voice bored and irritated.
"This isn't even my job," he said. "I'm just the scout."